You Can Run, but You Can't Hide

Alas. The kitty found the loaf of bread. For those of you who may not remember, the bread was hidden in a kitchen cabinet to prevent kitty from ripping the package to shreds and scattering pieces of bread throughout the house. The hiding spot was working fine until sometime over the weekend, I think, when he figured out how to open the cabinet door and get stuff out. I moved the bread to the top of the refrigerator. He hadn't taken any notice. Until now. Last night I got home and noticed about 6 pieces of bread leaning against the kitchen wall, near the baby gate. Where was the rest of the package? I was too tired to care. I got my answer this morning when I was gathering Wyatt's clothes for the day. Crunch. I stepped on a piece of crust, right there in the middle of Wyatt's floor. Okay...still missing the rest of the loaf. There was a piece between the wall and his dresser, one next to his toy box...but still no plastic bag. But wait! I saw a corner of a demolished bread sack peeking out from under Wyatt's bed. Shredded. Mystery solved, another mess to clean, and no sandwiches until I get to the store to buy more bread. I've got to think of another hiding place.

Went to work, had a good time with the kids. Listened to a kindergarten girl trying to convince me that her real name was Taylor Swift. "I'm not even lying!!" she said. Did some jump roping in front of all my students and peers and showed the world how pitifully out of shape I am. Hopefully I hid that well.

Went home, attempted to make the kids happy. Snuck off to the bathroom. All of you mothers (and some fathers) can relate to this. There is absolutely NOWHERE I can go in my house to escape. Someone or something (feline) will always come after me, screaming "MAMA!!" or meowing and scratching at the door. The above picture shows Buster's leg reaching for me under the door as he's crying for me. Like he's telling me I can run, but I can't hide. He will always find me. He will always find my loaf of bread. He's crouching, waiting, for that pound of unattended hamburger meat.